Read Popping the Cherry Online
Authors: Aurelia B. Rowl
Popping the Cherry
You only get one first time …
From driving tests to relationships, Valentina Bell thinks she’s a failure, with a big fat capital F. At this rate, she’s certain she’ll be a virgin for ever. So Lena’s friends plan Operation: Popping the Cherry to help her find the perfect man first time.
Yet somehow disastrous dates with bad-boy musicians and fabulous evenings with secretly in-the-closet guys aren’t quite working out how Lena planned.
Soon Lena’s avoiding Operation: Popping the Cherry to spend time with comforting, aloof Jake, her best friend’s older brother, who
doesn’t
make her feel self-conscious about still clinging to her V card. But could Jake show Lena that sometimes what you’re looking for most is right by your side?
A
Forever
for the twenty-first century
AURELIA B. ROWL
lives on the edge of the Peak District in the UK with her very understanding husband and their fantastic son and daughter, now aged six and four, along with the mad mutt who is happy to be used as a sounding board and writing companion. They are all used to her getting too caught up with her latest writing project … or five! … and she is guiltily counting down the months until she has both kids at school full-time. Her debut contemporary romance,
Christmas is Cancelled
, was released in December 2012 with book two in the series expected November 2013. She cannot wait to share her YA/NA story,
Popping the Cherry
, with you and hopes you’ll love the characters as much as she does.
I would like to express my deep appreciation for my husband, and thank him for his unwavering support. Life can be a bit chaotic as stay-at-home-mum to our two (mostly) wonderful children, but my husband is always ready to pick up the slack. Huge thanks must also go to my ABCs – my BETA readers and critique partners—for always being available and for keeping me on track and always having something positive to say. There are too many to mention individually but I couldn’t do it without them.
Thanks also to my editor, Anna Baggaley, for her brilliant vision and encouragement. With Anna’s guidance, this story turned out even better than I’d imagined, way back on that chilly afternoon on January ninth
*
but most of all, I’d like to thank Anna for taking a chance on me and my characters. I am proud to be an author with Carina, the new digital imprint for Harlequin UK, and I look forward to a tantalising future with this dynamic, forward-thinking publisher.
I would like to give a special mention to Steven Mather, whose rather handsome face you will come to know if you follow me online, and also to Margaret Rowles, PR officer for Beaulieu Enterprises; I only wish I could have included more detail on a truly stunning location.
And on one final note, if you are over fourteen, or a parent/carer of a teenager, and you are looking a real and relevant guide to sex and relationships, please check out www.bishuk.com; there is even a free book you can download. I didn’t discover this fantastic resource prior to writing
Popping the Cherry
but the two seem to go hand in hand. Shame they didn’t have this kind of thing when I was a teenager!
*
There I was, happily unloading the dishwasher before heading off on the school run, when the plot bunnies viciously attacked me with a fully formed story, complete with beginning and end, and then wouldn’t let me write anything else
.
This book is dedicated to my wonderful husband—I couldn’t have completed it without him—and also to my children, just because they’re both awesome and make me smile every single day.
Chapter Eighteen: Confrontation
Chapter Twenty-Six: Tinkerbell
DUMPED
I, Valentina Bell, am a failure
.
A failure with a big, fat, capital ‘F’ if today was anything to go by.
First, I failed my driving test, after skipping my last class to take the damn thing. English literature is my favourite class too, and it was my turn to read the part of Catherine in
Wuthering Heights
. Second, my boyfriend of four months and twenty-seven days dumped me, and then refused to drive me home because he didn’t want to waste another minute with me.
Bastard!
Third, I ended up missing the bus. Barely. The driver even gave me a snarky wave as he pulled away from the bus stop like it was the highlight of his day.
Great. Just great. Really!
It was gone ten o’clock at night, pitch black, frigging freezing for the beginning of June, and I had to try really hard not to cry. I didn’t want to give tossers like Damian and the bus driver the satisfaction, even though they couldn’t see me. More to the point, if I started, there was no telling when I’d be able to stop, and then my face would go all red and blotchy, my mouth would puff up, and I’d get a runny nose. I knew for a fact I didn’t have any more tissues because I’d used the last one to clean the dog crap off my shoes, which is what made me miss the goddamn bus in the first place.
Yeah, my life sucks
.
Because screaming like a banshee would probably get me arrested, I groaned instead and stared at my mobile phone out of habit. At least I’d had just about enough battery left to get a call out to Gemma to come and pick me up. I didn’t even get chance to tell her why before my phone died; I’d run most of it down earlier, bitching to her about the rotten driving test.
Stupid examiner.
This was all
his
fault. If he had passed me, I’d be cruising home and everything would be fine. I had a perfectly good car stuck on the driveway at home—nothing flash, it was my seventeenth birthday present from my parents a couple of months back—and it’s just sat there, waiting for me, taunting me. But, then, if Damian had taken me home, as any decent ex-boyfriend would, it wouldn’t have mattered, so it was
his
fault too.
Well I hope karma turned around and bit them both on the backside.
Hard.
A set of car headlamps drew nearer so I dragged myself away from my one-girl pity party and lifted my head in time to see a purple Corsa drive past me on the opposite side of the road.
At last
.
I pushed away from the wall of the bus shelter and watched the car turn off the main road into the next side street on the left, swing in a wide arc, then drive back towards me. It pulled into the bus stop, coming to a stop right in front of me. The window nearest to me rolled down and the cute brunette leaned across the vacant seat to speak to me.
‘Hey, foxy lady, do you take I-owe-yous?’ she said, smiling brightly.
Typical Gemma, always trying to be funny.
‘Hey, Gem.’ I reached for the handle to open the door, then flopped into the seat. ‘Thanks for coming to get me.’
‘What are best friends for?’ she said, flapping her hand at me. ‘But, umm … speaking of which, what am I doing here?’ Her grin faltered. ‘Weren’t you supposed to be at Damian’s tonight?’
Straight to the point. Something else I could rely on Gemma for.
‘I was.’ I busied myself with the seatbelt to avoid her searching gaze. ‘Until he dumped me.’
‘What? No!’ Gemma yanked up the handbrake and slipped the car into neutral. ‘Why?’
‘Because …’ I sighed and pretended to study my nails. ‘Because I wouldn’t sleep with him.’ There, I’d said it. Out loud. And it sounded pitiful.
‘You’re kidding me.’
I shook my head.
‘What a dick!’
‘Yeah, that about covers it. He called me a …’ A flush worked its way up to my cheeks until I was grateful for the open window. ‘He called me frigid and told me he was going to go and find a “real girl” instead, so he could “get some pu—”’
‘No, don’t say that word, I hate it,’ Gemma spluttered. ‘Nobody in their right mind still uses it,’ she said, her voice getting louder with each syllable. ‘It’s vulgar and horrid. God, you’re better off without him anyway, Lena.’
‘I know,’ I said, but my tone lacked conviction and tears welled in my eyes.
‘Look, just forget him. He’s a moron to let you go, and he’s so not worth your tears. You deserve much better.’
‘Thanks, Gem. What the hell did I ever see in him?’
‘He was kinda cute. You weren’t to know he was a prize twat. At least you found out now, not later?’
‘I guess …’ I sucked in a deep breath and blinked back the tears. ‘Plenty more fish in the sea and all that, right?’
‘Right.’ Gemma’s eyes took on a glazed look and her head tilted in such a way that spelled danger.
‘Gemma,’ I said, adopting my stern tone. ‘What’s going through that scary brain of yours?’
‘Hmm?’ she said, the picture of innocence.
‘Don’t give me that. I’ve known you too long; the butter-wouldn’t-melt routine doesn’t work on me any more.’
‘I have no idea what you mean.’
‘You … that look … you were scheming again.’
Gemma dragged herself back from her stupor. ‘No, no, not scheming, just thinking.’
‘Same thing. Now spill!’ I said. She ignored me and slipped the car into gear, released the handbrake and pulled back onto the empty road. ‘OK, so what exactly were you thinking about?’
‘I’m not sure yet, Lena,’ she said, flicking a glance at me. ‘I need to sleep on it.’
‘Now you’re really scaring me.’
A smile broke over Gemma’s face and she laughed. ‘Just leave it with it me, OK? Right now, I’m more interested in getting you home in time for curfew.’
Damn it, she was right. I had only minutes left to get home, which meant I couldn’t keep pestering her about whatever plot was forming in that mind-boggling brain of hers. When she pulled up outside my house, I didn’t even have time to do more than shout goodbye and wave as I made a run for the front door.
I was still trying to figure out what she was thinking when the college bus dropped me off the next morning. Not paying attention to what was going on around me, I took a while to notice the girl blocking my locker. The shoes were the first thing I noticed. Nobody in their right mind wore three-inch peep-toe shoes to college. Correction: only one person would wear a pair of high-heeled peep-toe shoes to college.
A groan worked its way up my throat but I swallowed it back down. I really didn’t want to be proved right, but as I swept my gaze up and over a pair of skinny legs covered with thick nude-coloured tights, finally spotting a mini denim skirt that might as well have been a belt, teamed with a top she must have bought from the same shop I worked Saturdays in, the plunging neckline too memorable to forget in a hurry. I was in no doubt about who was waiting for me.
Alice Taylor
.
Great!
I didn’t need to see the peroxide-blonde mane and trowelled-on makeup to confirm it: my eyes were already burning from seeing far too much of her. What the hell had I done to upset her this time?
